The Old Sword part 3


                The hooded man looked to them with disgust. “Direwolves” he said under his breath. He swings his broadsword and lowered his stance.  His cane tapped the road and rolled away towards the bar as if trying to get away from what was about to start. 

                Slowly, the hooded man brought his left hand to the blade of his broadsword and ran it down the edges to the pointy end of the blade. “You want this blade?” he said and let out a powerful pressured air to his surroundings. “Then come and get it”

              The first of the direwolves roars and leaped into the air with its fangs and hook like claws barred at the hooded man. 

                “Demon Slash” 

                The hooded man’s broadsword glowed bright blue and in a dazzling flash of light, the direwolf fell to the ground unmoved. Flakes of dark ashes rose into the air from the corpse of the direwolf as another growl to the hooded man ready to strike.

                The man shifts his sight to the two direwolves closing on him. He glanced by the edge of his eye and then back to the two in front of him. The man closes his eyes and stayed still.

                Nothingness.

                To everyone, it was a fearful feeling, it scared them, it felt alien to them.

                But to the hooded man, it brings concentration.

                And power.

                The two direwolves leaped high into the air with their fangs and claws barred at the hooded man. From behind him two more of the wolves jumped in a surprise attack. All four roared at the same time as a lightning strike down the bar. Each roared as powerful as the other. 

                They chilled the bones of those who heard them.

                Then there was silence.

                And nothingness came back once more.

                The four direwolves fell to the dark cobblestone road. Still and lifeless. The hooded man stood underneath the rain looking at the wolves as their skin flakes into black ashes and flew into the sky. He let the weeping of the sky washes away the taint on his sword, melting the black liquid onto the cobblestone road and watch it seeped into the ground below. 

                “This land is tainted“ said the hooded man.

                “They will come again”

                He swings his broadsword around and slides it back into the cloth before wrapping it back. He inched, jerking and skipping with one leg, towards his cane. Slowly, he picked the roughly made cane with a red ruby on the hilt from the ground and shifts his weight towards it.

                “The sword is gone” he said as he made his way out of the bastion under the weeping sky leaving the bar behind him burning bright orange and red.

                A man in white robe walks down the hallway with a long red cloth bound by leather straps in his hand. He made his steps long and fast. His eyes cut through everything in front of him, stern and powerful with confirmed objective. He turns around the corner and make his way up the stairs, stopping in front of a large door guarded by two people of the same attire as his.

                “I am here to see the grand cleric” said the man.

                The guards nod their heads and grabbed hold of the wooden bar that lay across the two halves of the door. They each took a deep breath and pulled the door open with veins popped on their temples. The door grinds the marble floor and opened to a moderately lit room almost empty except for a long strip of thin carpet that point towards the setting sun, a bed, a small table and a closet. An old man sat next to the window. His frail eyes closed, his body rocking back and forth as his mouth murmured and his trembling hands hold on to a small book.

                “Imam” said the man in white. He kneeled while his hands raised the sword above his head.
                The old man stopped. His body stilled. He turned towards the man in white and opened his eyes. He murmured something under his breath, closed the small book, kissed it and placed in on the opened window. “Hameed” said the grand cleric.

                “I have found the second sword, imam” he said.

                The grand cleric held out his hands and gently placed the red cloth onto his lap. “It is heavy” he said. He undid the leather strap and pushed the cloth away, revealing a sword with black shiny sheath. He closed his eyes, murmuring something and nodding his head. “This is the Old Sword” he said and wrapped the cloth back. “Prepare for the cleansing ritual” said the grand cleric as he pulled on the last leather strap and hands the wrapped sword back to Hameed.

                Hameed bowed down as he received the sword. “As you wish” he stood and left the room. The sound of the grinding door echoed throughout the room until finally, it was empty again, save for the frail old man. “May we all be protected from the lies of old” he said and looked out the window at the setting sun as the sky erupted with the call to prayer.
               
                “Varin, you must come quickly”